


Kill me when you catch me

by Hotarukunn



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Abusive Parent, Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Escape, Imprisonement, M/M, Multi, Name Changes, Rare Pairing, Whispers, Wish for flying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotarukunn/pseuds/Hotarukunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was like he was trapped in a tower, looking down at the world from high above.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill me when you catch me

**Author's Note:**

> AU. The prompt was the title, but it went off-track.

_Every year on your birthday, you get a chance to start new._  
-Sammy Hagar

/

His hair was plastered to his face as he turned off the hard beat of the water, and he snatched his towel from the rack beside the shower. He wrapped the big, rough towel around himself and tilted his head backwards to look up into the ceiling. After a few moments of just standing there, he shook his head to get his brain to wake up from it's state of blank, and he dried his hair. The towel scraped at his skin, but he ignored the burn against the wounds on his back.  
Once he had finished drying himself, he let the towel drop to the floor, and he turned his back to the mirror, looked over his shoulder and at his own reflection.  
His back looked terrible.  
But what was there to do? He couldn't go to the hospital, couldn't tell his friends and there was no one he would be able to talk with about this.

/

Tomorrow, he would turn seventeen. Seventeen years old and far away from getting away from this prison. It was a prison that was created by his own family, by those older than him, and apparently stronger than him, too. He didn't have much strength left to dance and to live.  
Seventeen years of hell.  
Many more to come.

/

Picking up the towel from the floor, he hung it on the rack again and pulled on an old, worn t-shirt and baggy pants. He wasn't allowed to have new clothes any more. He never had been, but for outer appearance, at least he was allowed to get a school-uniform and PE-uniform. But not much more. The few clothes he had that he could wear was carefully patched together by his own hands, fixed over and over and sewn by pieces of mismatched fabrics. What he wore at the house was a mix of old rags passed down from his brother and his sister, and nothing of it ever fit his own small body-build.

He unlocked the door to the bathroom and carefully peeked out.

Once sure that the coast was clear, he slipped into the hallway as he turned off the lights in the room he just left. He quickly retreated to his room and went over to his bed, only to slump down on it and look up at the bareness of the ceiling. He sighed and rolled around.  
He picked up a brush from his bedside-table and as he swiped it through his red as wine hair, sat by the window, at which the head of the bed were at.  
Looking down at the street, he whispered out greetings to the people who passed several stories below. No one heard the uttered words, and that was for the best, he knew. He wished he could call out, shout for someone, anyone, to take me away from here! and have someone to see him. But he wouldn't. Didn't want to risk it.

/

Late in the night, he still sat by the window.  
The only light was that which came from the fluorescented street-lights down by the road. Few people passed, and the few who did didn't always receive that low greeting.

/

At midnight, he saw someone pass and stop beneath the street-light closest to his window. It was a young man, maybe a bit older than him from what he looked. He was dressed in old rags, with dirt smeared on his face. But he looked content about his way of living, even though he was being burdened by a backpack that seemed to be half-full. He walked closer to the wall and the red-head had to open the window to see him.  
When he looked down, he was met by intense eyes looking up at him. "Good evening." the man down on the street said, and the red-head had to press a finger to his lips to show him to be silent. A moment later, he vanished into the room to press an ear to the door, and when he didn't hear any signs of being heard, returned to the window.  
"G' evenin'." He finally replied in a whisper. The man tilted his head to the side and pushed up the glasses that Harumi first now saw that he was wearing. "Exactly why is it necessary to whisper?" The question was low, and the redhead shook his head. "To not wake people up, of course."  
The man frowned, and looked somewhat confused. "I wouldn't believe anyone would hear us even if we spoke with normal voice-level."  
Harumi pouted and stuck out his tongue at the other. "No good. Just don't be loud."  
"Is there something wrong that makes impossible for you to speak loudly?"  
"Not really. It'd just be really bad if I was hea––" He cut himself off when he heard voices from inside the apartment, and whisper-shouted out a "Jya!", then closed the window before the man down at the street got the time to say anything.

/

Harumi covered his head with his arms to protect it from the lashes. He sobbed quietly and curled up with his head between his knees. Hard whips hit his body and made him shake in pain. A low whine passed through his lips and he bit his lip to not cry out loudly. His thoughts drifted to the man on the street, and he tried his best to think about him, remembering his features. He was pretty, the stranger. Very pretty and seemed so kind. So much unlike the people around him.

/

The sky was blue. It glittered happily and Harumi reached out to grab for the sky, and when he closed his fist around the sky, he was startled by the sound of something hitting the window-glass. He crawled over to the window, opened it and looked out at the street. "Why–? Why are you still here?" he whispered as he looked down at the man. The man scowled and asked "Why are you still whispering?"  
Harumi looked down at the window-sill and then back at the man. "Because it'd be bad if they heard me talking to someone."  
"'They'?"  
Harumi nodded. "Un." and the man on the street only scowled deeper.

/

"If you have that much trouble with what's going on, why don't you just make it stop?" the man asked. Harumi looked at him and frowned. "I can't do that."  
"Why?"  
"Because. I'd be in trouble."  
The man looked up at him, that concerned look on his face again. "You can come with me." When Harumi said nothing, he continued. "It's just to jump. I'll catch you."  
"How do I know that you will?" Harumi asked, already knowing that he didn't care if he was caught or not. If he wasn't, then maybe he would die. Then he would get away.  
"I will." the other said, spreading his arms. "Trust me."

/

He could hear them at his door while he was gathering a few of his items – what was most important to him – and stuffed it into his bag. He quickly grabbed his tattered hoodie and pulled it on over the clothes he had put on in a hurry. He hadn't finished packing, but it couldn't be helped. He returned to the window and looked out. "You're still here..."  
"Of course. I said I'd catch you." the man said. "I'll wait until you're ready to fly."  
"...fly...?" Harumi whispered. He wanted to fly. He wished he had wings so he could fly away from all this.

/

The moment the door crashed open, he jumped. He felt them grab after him, but they were too slow and had too short reach. He closed his eyes and felt the air around him as he plunged through bright darkness. Then arms embraced him, and he fell into the strangers arms.

/

He had never run like this before. His legs hurt as he was dragged away from his fears, and it felt as if everything was washed away as the rain started to fall.

/

"Ne!" Harumi shouted through the heavy downpour and gripped tighter at the hand his was entwined with. "You haven't told me your name!"  
The other stopped and turned to look at him. "Kunimitsu." he said. "In my world, it's only the name one has chosen that's important, so I don't use my real name." He looked into Harumi's eyes. "If you are going to be in it, who are you?"  
Harumi was silent for a long moment, while he thought about it. Who was he? He wasn't Harumi, had never been, and never would be. But who was he.  
"You don't know? What you want to be called?"  
Harumi nodded, and Kunimitsu let go of his hand and brushed brushed his fingers over Harumi's cheek. "Then.. would you let me name you?"  
Harumi grasped the hand and pressed it against his face. "Yes."  
"Then..." he leaned forward and whispered the name in Harumi's ear, and the shorter looked up. He smiled, then nodded. "Un!"

/

The world was bright, filled with fresh air and hopes and dreams. Kunimitsu had opened his arms wide and invited him into it. There were friends and smiles and such a warmth here in this odd world of mismatched personalities.

/

"You coming?" Kunimitsu held out a hand and the shorter smiled and thew himself at him.  
"I love you, Kuni!" he exclaimed, and earned a soft smile.  
"Me too," Kunimitsu wrapped his arms around him. "Gakuto."

/

_It's choice - not chance - that determines your destiny._  
-Jean Nidetch

/

End


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